


Prop You Up

by dominique012



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: lewis_challenge, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Possibly Pre-Slash, Trope Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6682615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dominique012/pseuds/dominique012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie's looking after his sergeant, and possibly getting a dance</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the mods at lewis_challenge for running a fun challenge! My tropes were "hurt/comfort, dancing, and breath."
> 
> Song: "Have You Fallen Out of Love?" by Paul Dempsey

_ Time for a pint? _

_ What, you’re drinking?  _

_ Doctors’ orders. Pint, and then straight to bed. _

Robbie snorted. “I’m sure,” he muttered to his phone. 

_ All right. Better check up on you. _

_ You’re a saint, Sir. I’ll get them in. See you in 10. _

 

It was more like twenty. The pub was warm and crowded, and the cacophony of Thursday night drinking, mingling with whatever music they were playing, made for a cheery chaos.

By contrast, Hathaway’s expression was dour. Not helped by the arch of stitches above his left eyebrow. Despite the neat application of steristrips, it still looked grim. Robbie also discerned some remnant bruising along his shorn hairline.

Hathaway was slouched back in the booth, long fingers tapping the table. His face was flushed and he looked weary. Robbie took him in, swiftly noting the amount of lager left in the lad’s glass. His mind automatically scanned for known facts:  _ alcohol, medication, head injury, height, weight, Hathaway _ .  

“Sir.” Hathaway nodded towards the empty seat opposite. A full pint sat waiting for him. “You took your time.”

Robbie shed his jacket, depositing it unceremoniously on the bench, before settling in. “I know. Drowning in paperwork, me. Lunk of a sergeant got himself injured and left me with all the work.”

Hathaway nodded with a non-committal, “Hm...”

Robbie took a sip from his glass. He looked at Hathaway’s forehead. “How’s it feeling?”

“Bit of a headache.”

Robbie fixed his eye firmly. “Nothing a pint in a crowded, noisy pub won’t fix.”

Hathaway looked steadily back at him. “Indeed, Sir.”  He tilted his head, conceding the point. “It’s been a few days. I was just a bit sick of being cooped up.” He looked around. “Soon I’ll tire of being out and about.”

“A real conundrum, you are."

Hathaway smiled then, his expression relaxing. “I prefer to think of myself as a chameleon.”

Robbie chuckled then. “Whatever you say.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’d been a leisurely hour or so. Hathaway had ordered a second pint for his governor, but Robbie was happy to note the lad himself taking it easy. Now it seemed he was winding down.  

Hathaway rubbed his face. “Well, I’ve had my pint. I suppose it’s time for bed.”

“Not by yourself you don’t,” Robbie said automatically. He reached for his jacket. He’d already decided to make sure Hathaway got safely home.

Hathaway looked up with a pointed expression, clearly amused even in his glassy state.

Robbie made a face. “I’ll take you home.”

Slight quirk of a smile. “Yes, Sir.”

How he could be in piss-taking mode despite his fatigue, the pint, and the meds was anyone’s guess.

But Robbie didn’t rise to the bait. He inclined his head. “I’m seeing you home so you don’t fall and break that big brain of yours. All  _ right?" _

He was rewarded with a genuine smile. “Thank you, Sir.”

Hathaway slid out of the booth and stood carefully, steadying himself on the nearby balustrade. Suddenly, he looked utterly exhausted, a bit green around the gills.

They made a dubious start for the door. Hathaway suddenly veered right, towards Robbie, who was watching him like a hawk. Hathaway stumbled, and Robbie quickly stepped in front of him, and then felt the increasingly solid weight of Hathaway’s chest at his back.

“Oops, sorry Sir,’ Hathaway’s low tone and warm breath close behind his ear. Then a hand on his back. 

Robbie paused, with a conciliatory grin to a young, drink-laden woman attempting to get back to her table. He turned to look at Hathaway. “You ok to walk, lad?” 

Hathaway was staring into some murky depth of the pub and he seemed not to hear.

“James?”

Hathaway’s gaze de-abstracted and met Robbie’s. His lips curved into a knowing smile. “Bring me some stolen jewel, some shred of proof when you come around.”

Robbie frowned. “What?”

Hathaway leaned in close, conspiratorially. "Just place your hands upon my head and cast the devil out.”  He started to sway. 

Robbie took his elbow firmly, and carefully guided Hathaway toward a convenient wall. “Stand here a minute.” He placed a hand at Hathaway’s back, all the better to steady him.  “I knew you shouldn’t have had that pint.”

Hathaway nodded. He looked sideways for a moment, listening, then looked down at Robbie earnestly. “Or have you fallen out of love?”

Robbie found himself suddenly grinning. There was something disarming about Hathaway - serious, methodical, Oxford-bells Hathaway - out of his tree on pain medication and beer, spouting what could only be a love song or sodding poetry in the middle of the pub. 

“I’m not sure,” he replied gently. “But maybe we should sit down again.”

Hathaway nodded but made no attempt to move. He patted Robbie’ shoulder companionably. “It’s a song. Paul Dempsey. Australian.”

“Right.” Robbie strained his ears in the din of the pub. He could hear it now, though he couldn’t discern the lyrics. “One of your favourites, is it?” 

Hathaway smiled. “Well. Perhaps now it is.” He looked down at his hand on Robbie’s shoulder. He seemed suddenly aware of their close proximity, of Robbie steadying him - hand on his arm, and steadying his back. 

“Fancy a dance, Sir?” He winked cheekily. His cheeks were flushed. 

Robbie fought off a chuckle, though it escaped him anyway, which seemed to delight the grinning Hathaway. Ridiculous lad. He was a state. 

And yet, Robbie couldn’t help but find it messily and humanly endearing. Just for a moment, he wouldn’t mind lingering with this mischievous, romantic, in-the-moment Hathaway. Just for a moment.   

Still. He looked around. They couldn’t stand here, propped up, all night. Hathaway’s tall frame was getting heavier by the moment, and he didn’t fancy carrying all 6-feet-whatever of him out the door. 

“I’ll dance with you anytime lad,” he said encouragingly. “But for right now we’d better either sit down or struggle our way out. Found your sea legs yet?”

Hathaway looked around and spotted the exit. “Yes, sir.” He replied resolutely.”Onward and upward.”

Pushing off the wall, leaning together like proverbially drunken sailors, they weaved their way slowly through the scrum. 


	3. Chapter 3

He finally had to let go of Hathaway, trusting him to stay upright. He gave Hathaway’s shoulder a squeeze before reluctantly letting go. He shivered as the warmth of the heated pub, of Hathaway against him, melted away into the cold night. 

They were just away from the door. Hathaway blinked slowly, as though awakening. The chill seemed to  be straightening out his stupor, though he still looked a bit vague. “Hm. Thank you, Sir. Sorry. I’m alright now.”

Robbie scrutinised him. “You sure?”

Hathaway rubbed his eye. “It was just the heat. And the crowd.” He met Robbie’s suspicious look. “And the medication. I probably shouldn’t have had the pint, but I haven’t taken anything strong. Too strong,” he amended. He looked vacantly at the car park. “I walked.”

“So did I, as it happens. So - taxi or a stroll?”

“Stroll, definitely.” Hathaway nodded. His eyes looked a bit less glassy now. 

Robbie looked at him doubtfully. “Me back’ll give out if I have to carry you.”

Hathaway smiled. “I’m sure.” He stretched. “Really. Just prod me if I lag behind.” 

“Well,” Robbie buttoned up his jacket.  “Yours is pretty close. Off we go.”

The evening was chilly, but clear. Cold enough for hands to be stuffed into pockets and exhales to turn into little puffs of warm air, but black and glittering, with wisps of mist clinging around the tops of the buildings; and as they moved away from the pub, they fell into appreciative silence. 

Hathaway broke it eventually. He kicked a pebble off the path.  “I’m, er, sorry about my behaviour in there.”

Robbie huffed. “Your  _ behaviour.  _  Don’t be daft. After the week we’ve had.” He glanced sideways at Hathaway. “Besides - we hardly ever dance anymore.”

Hathaway ducked his head, but Robbie caught a flash of a smile. “Yes, well. That song’s really better for wooing than dancing.”

Robbie couldn’t imagine Hathaway doing either, but he decided to play it safe and say nothing.

Hathaway continued, “I’m not usually drunk enough for dancing. You?”

“Dancing? Nah. Well,” Robbie considered. “Val would drag me on the dancefloor sometimes, at a wedding or whatnot. I think after the first couple of slow dances she realised it was better not.”

Hathaway turned to him. Robbie lifted an eyebrow. “You can imagine.”

“And the wooing?”

Robbie smiled fondly, the image of Val still foremost in his mind. “Well. I wasn’t the best at that either. Luckily, she understood me. I fell like a ton of bricks, and she knew.” 

“Lucky her,” Hathaway murmured. And then, “Lucky you both worked it out.” 

Robbie returned to the present. “What about you, then?” He prodded Hathaway’s elbow. “Getting me all nostalgic.”

“What about me?”

“Wooing?”

Hathaway snorted. “I’m sure  _ you  _ can imagine.” He stared into the distance. “Less wooing, more...” 

“Tortured brooding? Darcy-style?”

“Very impressive, Sir.”

“Another of Val’s influences. Speaking of torture.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Come in, Sir.”

They were at Hathaway’s door. Usually in this situation they were at Robbie’s, and he never thought twice about inviting Hathaway in, because he enjoyed the lad’s company. But tonight he was reluctant to impose, especially exhausted as Hathaway was.  No fun having to entertain your governor.

He was formulating a response when Hathaway suddenly dashed in towards him, as though falling. He leaned heavily on Robbie’s shoulder. 

“Oh, sorry, Sir...probably the painkillers. Could you possibly..?” Hathaway sighed dramatically. 

Robbie smiled, the antics bringing a sudden rush of warmth to his chest. Ridiculous-Hathaway seemed to do that. 

“You don’t make a very convincing damsel-in-distress.”

Hathaway righted himself and fiddled with his key at the door. “You’re just an excellent detective, Sir. And you did say you’d take me to bed.”

Robbie repressed a chuckle, successfully this time. “Get in there.”

They made their way inside, Robbie gratefully feeling his fingers, and the rest of him, start to warm up. 

Hathaway shrugged off his jacket. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“I’ll do it,” Robbie said firmly. He steered Hathaway away from the kitchen. “Go and...take it easy.”

Hathaway chuckled. “Your bedside manner leaves a bit to be desired, Sir.” But he went. 

Robbie filled the kettle and flicked it on. He found mugs and tea. In the living area, Hathaway was connecting his iPod to speakers. 

In a moment,  the room filled with a gentle guitar melody, followed by rich vocals. They settled side-by-side on the sofa, listening.

Robbie surmised, “Ah. Paul Dempsey.”

Hathaway nodded. They listened for a moment in silence. Hathaway remarked suddenly, “It’s been quite soothing this week, listening to music. Without alcohol to, er, blot it out for a bit.”

He was referring to the case. Culminating in a gruelling pre-dawn chase through a square. Robbie sighed, unwilling to follow his mind back to those memories. 

In his mind now, it was just a blur of sensations. His heart was being crushed in a vice as he ran, Hathaway just up ahead. Hathaway, who was just in position to be overcome by a hidden assailant. The flash in Robbie’s eyes of the knife, followed by bright, sickening red.  The thud as Hathaway crumpled to the ground. 

Robbie felt sick again suddenly, as he had that morning on the cold concrete, Hathaway laid out in front of him. After that, it had all been shouting and sirens and lights.

Robbie shook himself free, returning to the warm safety of Hathaway’s flat.  “I was scared,” he said suddenly, almost to himself. 

It was a surprise for a moment to find Hathaway there, just looking at him. He cleared his throat. “You were in a bad way. My heart all but stopped until I knew you were alright.”

Hathaway said nothing. And then abruptly: “That was partly why I needed to get out tonight. Drink a pint. Breathe. Feel normal. ” He rolled his eyes, with a sheepish smile. “Or not quite normal, falling all over you in the pub.” 

“That’s alright,” Robbie replied quickly. “Propping you up gave me a chance to make sure you’re really alright.” 

He suddenly felt like a bit more physical reassurance. He nudged Hathaway’s shoulder with his own. “Need you to hang around a bit longer.”

Hathaway smiled weakly, raising his hand awkwardly as though he wanted to offer a friendly punch or a handshake. Robbie reached over and took the lad’s hand, squeezing the fist briefly before letting it go. 

“For you, Sir, I’ll hang around.” James leaned back into the sofa, close to Robbie’s side, a sigh escaping his lips. Robbie predicted he’d be asleep in minutes. 

“Thanks, James.”

“But you still owe me a dance. I remember in the pub - you said anytime.”

Robbie laughed softly. Oh, this was trouble. But he didn’t care. “Anytime, lad. Just this once. Anytime.” 

**end**


End file.
